Embassies 1-4

1.

Snooty booty on the barricades
the contents of your desk
& the bobblehead mayor
is master of some things
massive blocks of pink & green
chained to the facts & crawling with spiders
master of the open spaces
between the dwellings
where we came innocent, or seeming
with the missionary zest
of the copyist—

with a face of dried cherries
& a throat of pastry cream
webbed to the plaques & the interstices
"This town is a congealed yolk"
snoots to boot of the joke
we laughed at the discontented rest
on our walk that morning
The trace on the table
of the sprawling manure
showed it stripped on top, the rest in plaster
though the space ground up & fed through the speaker
spoke an illusion true as iron—

Lest all things vain point out the weather
hail mission of the copyist
through the pipes, with pleasure
and dreamy manure. The fields
I mean, surrounding the spy-tower
spoke a vision of youth spread out at the sea.
But he may err. Double-down the gatekeeper
the master of some spaces
the grayhair hogs the microphone—
He is such a queen—
stripped on the top, the mouth in plaster
played Hava Nagila at the hockey game
taking in the view
of the first-spit seeds on the breakfast plate
rinds of world music
ground up and fed to the geese—

Hiss, I am only nine
and wait by the door
for my keeper to come home.


2.

Hail, chemistry of smell,
fruit of the banana
blackening, the unseen scene
work of a familiar architect, lacking all sense
of scent & proportion.
A gobble-gobble mayor digs
plots on the increase
in the gaps between houses
laissez-faire, lazy carnival
a beggary pirate
he'll Punch and Judy for a cup of coffee
swallowing the consonants
for a cozy few, rare view
of sooty beauty and
the double-headed player—

Hee-haw and laughter
raking in the new
the hunted pest of the orifice
still at his desk, encased in plaster
A stubble-threaded layer
in the photograph
gaps on the increase
and the earth-dissolved iron—

Pigment and stain
a cloud with no centre
fissioned uncouthly over the sea
into each trough, some delusion
must cough
the leaves transpired against us
see-saw and thunder
held up at the border—

A testimonial for a place I'd been.
I have never seen my keeper.

3.

We moved into and out of the ivy
immersed in ivy
then emerging from ivy
hail, chivalry of fall
& the vines crawl across view
fell, endless sense of it all
the sooty barricades and the pantograph
in all the high places
master of some few
relented or slain
(the earthworks remain
& a shrouded dissenter)—

An image of an autograph
head thrown up on the plate
pawpaw, a blender
played We Will Rock You at the execution
I mean, lunch, then ablution—

Hold up, I’m well fed, Ed
said the little man hung on the pantograph
& Italian nudist tea¬
He likes butter and I like toast
dripped lightning down the spy-tower
and jammer the centre
smoked on the balustrade
in the great library
smutty pages and the potted player
foxed the guard-hole
he may have maybe got in—

If he’s gone could come again.

4.

Message for me—
Excuse the inattention
— you never know who’s listening —
— you never know who’ll call—
sold the restaurant last week
said thunder reminded him of anger
and grease of the slain
stained the trough
such are the whims of crowds
& who knows the ending of sing sing sing?

Time constraints and your writhing
standards not met
by the opportunity
Though we reviewed carefully
the impossibility
at this time
and the master of the standing cases
spilled pigment on the brain
while standing in line
& scratched up the polygraph—

the measure of a copyist
clearly is fear, I mean laughter
cemented or bossed
from atop the pilaster—

We greatly appreciate your interest
and if we could
would like to wish you
the best.